The greatest of the Hogwarts Four
by Atlantida
Summary: In a thousand years of existence, the Sorting Hat has been on many heads. He's heard the thoughts of thousands children. He's seen it all, heard it all. But this? That spark in the boy's soul? Golden and bright and so, so warm? There's been only one man who had it. For centuries, the Sorting Hat's always sought him. And now, Hogwarts' greatest founder was back.
1. Chapter 1

In a thousand years of existence, the Sorting Hat has been on many heads. He's heard the thoughts of thousands children. What was he saying? _Dozens_ of thousands. He's seen it all, heard it all. He's been on the head of Merlin, of Albus Dumbledore, of the man who would become Voldemort. Legends, gods, those who'd be happy to remain in the side-lines, those who would be everything if only for a few. All so easily impressed, unaware of what life had in store for them.

And the Sorting Hat had the duty of finding where they should be sorted. Where they'd prosper, thrive, become who they were truly meant to be. Such was the burden that was given to him by the founders and, with his non-existent hands, he had the power to shape the wizarding world with just four words.

It wasn't always easy. Some souls were so bright it went without saying where they belonged, some were trickier. Each soul was unique and, if putting Weasleys in Gryffindor seemed to be a tradition, there could always be a Sirius Black to remind him there was no pattern.

And, once the Sorting ceremony was done, the Deputy Headmistress would bring him back to his shelf.

Alone. Only he and his thoughts. Only he and his memories.

Alone, always alone.

He had even started writing _songs_ , that's how lonely he was these days.

The Sorting Hat was precious for the school but, at the end of the day, he was still a _hat_. Hats weren't meant to wistfully look at the window, they were supposed to be _outside_ , see the world, and shield their owner from sunlight.

Sometimes, the Sorting Hat just wanted to be Hat.

"Potter, Harry."

The silence brought him back to the present. Silence could be more deafening than the loudest scream after all.

Harry Potter, he's heard Dumbledore talking about him in his office. The Boy-Who-Lived, the only being to have survived the Killing Curse.

Oh well, duty called.

And he had to admit, the Sorting Hat was curious to know what kind of wizard this boy was.

When he touched the first strands of hair, he felt worry. Absolutely normal, classic. He quickly chased it away and tried to go deeper.

Oh, that wasn't going to be an easy one. The fabric stretched to form a smile. Difficult cases were his favourite. It showed him why the founders had needed him.

"Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either. There's talent, A my goodness, yes - and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting... So where shall I put you?"

The mind, which previously had been anxious now was radiating calm and the boy was smiling.

 _"_ _You're the Sorting Hat, you tell me. Who am I?"_

The Sorting Hat stopped. His duty was to test the children's talents. So why? Why did he get the feeling he was the one being judged today?

 _"_ _Tell me why you're hesitating. I'm curious."_

The Sorting Hat hesitated. "Like I said, you've got plenty of courage."

" _Lots of courage, eh?_ " The mind was now laughing at him. " _Not unexpected I suppose_."

"But there's also a good mind. You're clever, maybe not in academics but you know how to react, how to quickly make connections and use what you've learned to its fullest. And there's such thirst to prove yourself. Talents you want to use, to show the rest of the world. Once you've got a goal, you will do anything to see it achieve. Not necessarily by any mean, I concede, but you will do _anything_ for the mean you find fit to prevail."

" _So let me get this straight_." The boy nodded. " _You're hesitating between Gryffindor and Slytherin_."

"If you want to put it that way, these are the two houses that'd fit you best. Personally, I think you should go to Slytherin-"

The boy laughed.

"I'm serious!" The Sorting Hat protested. "You could be great, you know, it's all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that - no?

But the boy just shook his head. "Not Slytherin… Not Slytherin."

It wasn't a plea. This was queerest things, really. It felt more like a disappointed parent gently correcting his child because he's failed some test.

" _Maybe it isn't my head you should search._ " He mused. " _Maybe you should go deeper, Hat. I'm sure the magic that was given to you can do that_."

 _Hat?_

The Sorting Hat stilled. He suddenly had a terrible feeling.

Going deeper. He hasn't done that in a while. In centuries maybe, but that was still doable.

Still plenty of courage. Lots, lots of courage and bravery. A loyalty without bound. And he was right about him being cunning and smart, he knew he was!

"Sure, sure," the boy was now humouring him. "Despite what many may believe, I'm not stupid, you should know that better than anyone else. It'd be like… I don't know, saying Slytherin wasn't loyal to a fault because he was cunning."

Oh he knew that, Slytherin had been Gryffindor's best friend for a reason. Now, back to the sorting. The Sorting Hat wasn't finished. Bravery, kindness, loyalty, ambition and cleverness.

Alright he was lost now. Now, if that brat could stop mentally laughing at him.

And suddenly, he felt it.

The fabric tensed.

In a thousand years of existence, the Sorting Hat has been on many heads. He's heard the thoughts of thousands children. _Dozens_ of thousands. He's seen it all, heard it all. He's been on the head of Merlin, of Albus Dumbledore, of the man who would become Voldemort. Legends, gods, those who'd be happy to remain in the side-lines, those who would be everything if only for a few.

But _this_? That spark in the boy's soul? Golden and bright and so, so warm?

There's been only _one_ being who had it.

Hat screamed.

For centuries, he's always sought him. Turning left and right, hoping despite everything that he'd pick him up. Searching in the middle of a crowd for him.

And, suddenly, in the middle of this crowd, just as he's given up, he was back.

"GRYFFINDOR!"


	2. Chapter 2

A long time ago, in a burg that would one day be named after one of its most famous inhabitant, said boy was longingly looking at the hat-maker's shop.

"I want one like Lord White's," he said to the boy next to him. "All big and pointy." He nodded to himself. "A true wizard needs a hat like that." He then looked at his right palm and smiled. "When I can finally use magic, I'll buy one."

The boy dubitatively shrugged. "It seems impractical. I mean, it'll fly away at the merest breeze."

"Ah, but with magic-"

The blonde helplessly shook his head at the red-haired who was now grinning. "Godric, if you want to become a knight, I doubt having such a hat will be useful."

"Why not?" he protested. "It'll remind everybody I'm a wizard first! I'll buy one hat, and I'll never let it leave my head! What about you, Henry? When you finally use magic, how will you celebrate it?"

The blonde put his finger on his lips and winked. "Secret."

And, no matter how much the six years old tried to get his friend to confess, it was only when Henry forced his first flower to grow that Godric learned his secret.

"I prefer the idea of the hat," he mumbled when the blonde grinned as he showed him the bracelet his mother's made for him.

"Such hats are expensive, you know?"

Godric knew. That was why he was working in Lord White's castle every day, cleaning everything he could. From the floor and the windows to the horse' shit.

Sometimes, Godric would open the door to the sorcerer's study. Just slightly, if only to see how the old wizard was brewing potions or using magic.

Many years later, Godric realized the old man must have known he was doing this. They had never mentioned it, but there was no way he hadn't known that, everything he's known at the very beginning, he's learnt it from watching him.

When at seven Godric finally managed to heal the injury of a horse, the boy ran to the hat-maker's shop.

"Are you really sure?" The man sounded worried.

Godric, unable to see him with the hat covering his eyes, nodded. "It's perfect. I know it is."

"It's just… a little too big for you. I don't… I don't even think you can see anything."

"No, no!" The little boy shook his head and grinned. "It's the correct size! I just need to grow up! It's the one, I know it is!"

It was the right hat, it was _the only hat_ for him.

Godric just had to grow up to be worthy of it. He just had to grow up. As a wizard, and as a man.

* * *

A millennium later, the wizard that had once been Godric Gryffindor laughed, the large hat covering his eyes once more.

He'd have to grow up again.

" _Did you really try to sort me in Salazar's house, dear friend?"_

 _"_ _Gryffindor… Oh dear God, Gryffindor…"_

 _"_ _Come on, Hat, after all these years, I believe you have earned the right to call me Godric. Or Harry, perhaps. That's my new name in case you've forgotten already."_

The child would have to think about this. Was he really Godric Gryffindor, or Harry Potter? How should he call himself in his head?

Godric Gryffindor was dead, he finally settled. He had a long life, it was time for his reincarnation to trace his own path. If he could avoid it, he'd try not refer himself as Godric. Old habits die hard though, so he might slip once or twice.

 _"_ _B-But how?_ " Hat mentally spluttered.

Godr- Harry smiled. "You know the legends as well as I do, old friend. It seems the one about love and souls was true."

His friends and he hadn't meant for it to happen, but the magic they had taught was deeply linked with their own soul. If somebody could have done this little miracle, it was them.

" _Harry Potter is my reincarnation, but it's you, Hat, who brought me back. Until you were on my head, I had no idea I used to be Godric Gryffindor."_

His soul must have recognized his magic and the slivers of his old soul as Godric Gryffindor imbedded in Hat's fabric, he supposed. Such miracle was only possible because Hat was Hat and he was Godric Gryffindor and the bound between them had survived an entire millennium.

As Harry left the stool and walked where the cheers were the loudest, he decided not to think too much about it.

" _You know, when the other three and I imagined funding a school, I had no idea I'd be a student myself_." He mused. " _I suppose the way magic is used must have vastly changed_."

" _Oh, you have no idea_."

Harry smiled.

And blinked when he heard a few giggles. "What? What's wrong?"

"You still have the Sorting Hat on you!" somebody laughed.

Hat's fabric stiffened and Harry tried an apological smile. "Sorry, I'll bring him back."

He got up under Hat's protests. _"No, Godric, no! Please, don't leave me!"_

 _"_ _My friends and I gave you a duty,"_ he thought. _"And the Sorting Ceremony is not over yet. Before I forget, I met a red-haired I rather like. Ron Weasley's his name. One worthy of being sorted in my house. Try not to send this one in Salazar's too, will you?"_

And under Hat's outraged protests, Harry took the Hat off his head and winked at him.

"Sorry." He gave a contrived smile to Professor McGonagall. "I just rather like hats."

* * *

When Harry got up the next day, he was as existed as any other child.

Perhaps more, for when Professor McGonagall transfigured her desk into a pig he was the only one to get up and clap.

"Brilliant! T-Twenty points to Gryffindor!"

At the other side of the castle, an hourglass started filling itself.

"Mister Potter, I do believe you've misunderstood how the point system works." Professor McGonagall sighed and shook her head. "It's the professors who are giving points, not the other way around."

A few in the classroom started giggling. Harry tried a smile. "Sorry? It's just…" He pointed at the pig with a smile. "It's just absolutely wicked."

Oh, Godric Gryffindor could have done the same. But not like that, and it would have been far more complicated and exhausting.

"And you're going to teach us how to that?" He couldn't stop an excited grin. "How to turn tables into pigs or-or _lions_? How to bend the soul of every object to shape them the way we need them to be? Or, better, how to shape them _back_?"

Professor McGonagall's stern expression softened. "Before you and your friends attempt such spells, you will have to learn the basics." With a swish of her wand, words started appearing on the blackboard and there were matchsticks on everybody's table. "So, everybody take your wands and try to follow the instructions on the blackboards. I will walk around you and raise your hand if you're having questions."

Harry nodded and softly sat back.

He had never used a wand before, Harry thought as he took his holly wand and started whispering the spell, trying to replicate the wand movement on the blackboard. Only the likes of Salazar and his house could afford one. He knew Slytherin had been correct in his idea that they were wizardkind's future but Godric had been too used practicing magic with his own hand to really make the transition smoothly.

From what Harry could see, they were using magic in its purest form. He tried the incantation and grimaced when nothing happened. Perhaps it was less rough, and more precise but it was also vastly different from how Godric Gryffindor's actually learned and taught magic.

Oh well, a good teacher also needed to be a good student. He was going to get the hang of this eventually.

After one hour of fruitless attempts, the class went to their first Charm lesson. And Charms was as amazing as Transfiguration. Not as impressive at first glance, but Godric's reincarnation hardly was an amateur and he knew where to look to see past the apparent ease.

Godric Gryffindor had never thought much of the future, but he would have been vastly disappointed if magic hadn't changed, if great wizards hadn't pushed the boundaries of magic to make it better. A millennium, _of course_ he needed to learn how to use magic the way everybody was now using it.

And how many of these genius had sat on these chairs? How many had been in Ravenclaw? In Slytherin? In Hufflepuf? In Gryffindor? Was it arrogance for him to hope that it was because of the four of them that these ordinary miracles were happening right under his eyes?

Because, if it was the case, if it was the first school in magic that was the stepping stone of this world, then Godric and his friends had every right to be proud of themselves. And all their sacrifices would have been worth it.

* * *

Of course, not everything was perfect, as Harry found out in Potions.

There's always one bad apple. Still, it had begun so well…

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potionmaking," the Potion Master began. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but the students caught every word. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death - if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

That, Harry raised an eyebrow as he was taking notes, would be absolutely amazing. If he could actually do it, Harry would be impressed.

"Potter!" said Snape suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Harry mused. Having taught potion when he was Godric Gryffindor, he'd be disappointed if he couldn't answer that one. Sadly, you got nothing with two ingredients alone. "I cannot answer you, sir." It could be a powerful sleeping potion, or even the beginning of a healing or cleansing balm.

Snape's lips curled into a sneer. "Tut, tut - fame clearly isn't everything."

Harry raised his eyebrows while Professor Snape ignored Hermione's hand.

"Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Hermione stretched her hand as high into the air as it would go without her leaving her seat. "What kind of bezoar, sir?" Seeing the man raising an eyebrow, he shook his head. "Fastest place to get it would be the owlerly but killing an owl is usually bad manners." A few students started looking at him in abject horror. "Not as effective as the bezoar of a goat but it'd do nicely most of the time. I'm going to assume there's one in this room though." He leant on the table and began. "So, if you're good at what you do, I'm tempted to say the cupboard on my left, your right. Best place to grab it while still keeping an eye on the rest of the class. In the back bag I can spot, I suspect."

"Five points from Gryffindor for your cheek."

Harry scoffed. He knew he was right.

"One last chance. What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

At this, Hermione stood up, her hand stretching toward the dungeon ceiling.

Harry pitifully shook his head. He knew only one of them but he had nailed the man to a T now. "It's the same plant, sir." _Isn't it?_

Snape's lips thinned. "I suppose even a broken clock can give the time once or twice."

Harry rolled his eyes. God, wasn't the man a caricature of Potion masters.

It seemed some things never really changed.

* * *

"I thought the twins were joking when they said Potions was bad," Ron said during lunch, "but it's even worse than that! I mean, why did he even take you points? If you hadn't pushed Neville out of the way, he could have been hurt!"

"He's a Potion Master," Harry said as if that explained everything.

"What are you doing by the way?" Ron asked as the raven-haired was writing something.

"I want to buy something I think I saw in Diagon Alley." He answered as he finally finished his letter and posed his quill. "If I'm lucky and send it before the next class, I'll receive it for tomorrow. What do we have next?"

"Let me check…" Ron took a glance at his timetable and grimaced. "History of magic. The twins say the teacher is a ghost and very boring."

"It's important to know history." Harry assured him. "You need to know your lore or you'll operate blind."

"Yeah, yeah," he mumbled.

"I mean it. Before Hogwarts, stories were all we had."

Godric's mother would tell him stories before going to sleep. About magic castles and dangerous dragons. About the lone traveller who knew magic and has learnt the way to calm the monster. About Mother Magic who would grant her children the power to do extraordinary feats if they could only just listen to her song.

Harry wondered if his mother would have done the same.

"I suppose I'll have to update my lore," he mused as they got up and went to class. "Say Ron, what kind of fairytales did you learn?"

" _Fairytales_?" Hermione who has been eavesdropping couldn't stop herself from asking. "Please, be serious."

"Fairytales are serious business," he earnestly told the bushy-haired. "Very serious business…" Seeing she wasn't convinced, he tried again. "Two months ago, you thought magic and dragons were _just_ fairytales."

"That's different," she protested.

"No, no, fairytales are what is left in the end. When everything is gone, when everybody has forgotten, when everything should have vanished…. They are the soul of the story surviving despite everything."

And souls were the most powerful magic of all.

* * *

While the wizard that had once been Godric Gryffindor was roaming in the castle, somebody was crying. Or he would be crying if he wasn't a _hat_.

The Sorting Hat was back on his shelf, back where he now belonged.

Alone. Alone, always alone.

Perhaps that was even worse than before. It was death that tore him from Godric's head once. But this time, his owner has taken him off and left him without looking back.

What had he hoped for anyway?

This reincarnation of the founder was young, and Hat was…

He was…

He was way past his prime.

The first day after the Sorting Ceremony, Hat had waited. Waited for a miracle, a sign that _yes_ , what happed was real and he wasn't mad.

The third night however, Hat had to listen to reason.

There would be no knight in shining armour to rescue him from this half-life that had been his since Gryffindor's parting. And he would never leave that shelf nor feel the sun on his fabric ever again. That desperate hope had been nothing but an illusion, a mirage.

Somebody coughed.

Hat's fabric tensed and slowly tried to feel his surroundings.

"Hat? Are you there? Please, say you're here."

Now that he was trying to feel his surrounding, he could 'see' in the darkness that soul he has been looking for.

"Yes, I'm here!" Hat exclaimed. "Godric, I'm here!"

"Where? I can't." The child coughed. "I can't see you. Wait a sec."

The eleven years old took a matchstick from his pocket and lit it before doing the same with a candle he had in his hand.

"Ah yes!" Harry finally spotted the Sorting Hat on the top shelf. "Yes, I see you!"

"You… You're late!" Hat exclaimed.

"Yeah, sorry for the wait. I needed to grab a few things before taking you." Harry coughed. "Damn, Salazar's secret passages mustn't have been cleaned in centuries. The _dust_."

"Get me out of here!" Hat hissed.

"Any protection I should be wary of, Hat?" Harry asked. "Some secret ward that will activate if you don't give me the code?"

"Don't worry about that. Just hurry up and save me!"

"Sure, sure." Harry walked in his direction. "Damn it, Hat. You're even more a damsel in distress than Lady Madeline."

"Don't compare me with that-"

Harry raised his hand to grab Hat.

The hand didn't reach the top shelf.

"Oh, don't you _dare_."

Harry tried standing on tiptoe but he was still too small to touch the Sorting Hat.

Oh, Hat suddenly thought while Harry posed the candle on the nearest candle holder and started jumping, you're still a child.

Five minutes later, Harry finally grabbed Hat.

"See?" Harry trimphantly exclaimed as he put Hat on his head. "No need to use magic! Now, we need to warn the Headmaster you're leaving!"

There was no denying it now, his knight in shining armour had no armour. And he also had neither horse nor sword.

Still, Hat had his knight back so he wasn't going to complain


	3. Chapter 3

_Headmaster,_

 _After 1023 years spent sorting students for Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, I believe it is high time for me to enjoy some well-deserved rest. Here's my replacement, it was well-trained and should be a worthy successor. As for me, I will spend my remaining days with a fisherman in need of some protection from the sunlight._

 _It was an honour, and a privilege to serve Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, from the very beginning to this day. May this school go through another millennium and may she keep shining as brightly as she does today._

 _The Sorting Hat._

"These two have gone too far," Snape said as Professor Dumbledore finished reading the letter to the four Heads of house. "Stealing Hogwarts' oldest artefact, they should risk expulsion!"

"Stealing is, I believe, not the correct term to use, Severus," Professor Dumbledore said as he lazily started to move his wand over the note. "The Sorting Hat is a sentient entity, with the ability of thinking."

"W-What would you call this then? _Kidnapping_?"

"Of course not. It appears that the Sorting Hat left on its own free will."

Professor McGonagall incredulously looked at him. "Albus, you do not actually believe that this note is genuine?"

"I admit that it is unlikely that our dear Sorting Hat has gained while we weren't looking the ability to walk or the capability of writing this note. No, it's certain it had outside help. I'm merely raising the possibility that, had it wanted to saved, it should have been able to put a fight or even raise the alarm dozen headmasters, myself included, have put on it."

What was truly intriguing, Albus thought, was that the gargoyle hadn't moved at all. Severus Snape might believe the Weasley twins were behind this mysterious disappearance, he wouldn't be sure even them could curse the gargoyle so well _he_ wouldn't see any difference.

No, everything so far was pointing to this being the perfect locked room mystery. Meaning, most certainly, that there was a secret passage in this very room.

He looked at the portraits on the wall, which were as baffled as the livings. "And you didn't see anything? Not even you Phineas?"

"I was asleep!" The portrait outrageously exclaimed. "We all were!"

"And you heard nothing as well, I presume."

"We were _asleep_ , Albus. We couldn't see anything, it was dark! I opened my eyes maybe but it was dark!"

"It was dark."

"Are you deaf, you old man? It was pitch black!"

Professor Dumbledore nodded, as if it explained everything. "And you don't find this suspicious?" Seeing the portrait's cross face, he explained, "How could it be, as you said, pitch black?" He pointed at the window on his left and said, "How could that be possible when it was the full moon last night and I didn't pull the curtains?"

The portraits all startled and looked at each other. The old man took the hat that had taken the Sorting Hat's place and bemusedly shook his head when he looked inside. "I'm afraid, my friends, that you've all been had."

And he pulled out of the hat a black curtain.

The wizards all grimaced in pain when the portraits started screaming.

"Nice tissue," Dumbledore said once the brouhaha was over. "I'm pretty much sure it's charmed to give some privacy and, most importantly, _silence_ to the witch or wizard who doesn't want to be bothered by the noise outside their window. I believe it's rather easy to buy some by owl. All our burglar had to do was to levitate the curtain right over your face."

And that, Albus didn't say to preserve their dignity, any First Year could do this.

It _might_ be the Weasley twins after all.

"My dear Headmistresses and Headmasters, you understand I have to ask you this question. Is there in this very room a secret passage that I am unaware of?"

"No!"

"Of course not!"

"No, no, no!"

"I've been in this office for sixty years, Albus. I would know if there was one!"

"Like you all knew nobody came?" Snape said under his breath as Albus began looking at the black hat in his hands.

It was, by all mean, the hat of a child. _Meaning_ that their burglar might very well be one.

"If I may, Albus?" Professor Flitwick asked and the older wizard handed the hat to him. "I suppose that this is the… replacement."

"It's just the hat of one of these blasted twins!" Snape irritably said.

"At least it'll be the correct size for our students, I suppose," he mused before handing it back to the Headmaster. "Most peculiar, I'm feeling _some_ magic. I cannot tell you what it is though. It's…" He struggled to find the correct word and finally settled for: "rough. There's work but… almost no finesse. There's potency but I don't… I'd be hard pressed to make a comparison with what I know."

"So there's a charm on it," Albus concluded. Seeing the charm master nodding, he began musing. "I wonder…"

And Albus Dumbledore unceremoniously put the hat on Slytherin Head of House's head.

"Gryffindor!" the hat squeaked.

Snape startled and threw the hat off his head. "Is this their idea of a joke?" he exclaimed while Dumbledore was picking it up. "Because clearly, it's defective!"

"Ah, but is it really?" He smiled. "I do believe you'd make a fine Gryffindor, Severus. In fact, I believe it did a good job of you. Now let's see…" He put the hat on his head.

"Slytherin!"

"I suppose that I was mistaken then," he sighed and put it off.

But the Potion Master was smirking. "No, I think it managed to see who you truly are, Headmaster."

"Let me try." When Flitwick put it on his head and the hat squeaked Gryffindor, he chuckled. "Did I tell you the Sorting Hat was hesitating between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw?"

When Professor McGonagall did the same and the hat squeaked Ravenclaw, she allowed a smile. "It did the same with me."

Pomona was the only one who managed to be sorted in her own house.

"I suppose it works like a lottery," Filius explained once he took another look at the hat. "You put the hat on your head and it randomly gives a house. I mean, nobody knows how the Sorting Hat works."

He sighed.

"Now that the Sorting Hat is gone, I really wish I could have studied how the founders gave it its abilities. Such old, such potent magic, even centuries later. I don't think there's a living soul who could replicate what the founders did."

"Search Gryffindor's quarters and we'll get it back!" Snape snapped. "It couldn't have gone far, it's a hat! This time, these twins shouldn't get away with a slap of their fingers. It's high time they learn discipline! We should expulse-"

"There we go."

The note in Albus Dumbledore's hands slowly glowed golden and the message disappeared to be replaced by another.

 _Just kidding._

 _Me with a fisherman? I'm Godric Gryffindor's Hat. My place isn't on that shelf. I'm off on an adventure. I'll try to send a postcard or two but I'm making no promise._

 _I'll come back for next year's sorting, with new songs and new melodies to try._

 _Hat._

The Headmaster brightly smiled. "Well then it's all sorted, isn't it? The Sorting Hat has just decided to go on a vacation. A well-deserved one, if I say so myself."

And it was kind enough to leave them with a replacement in case it couldn't come back on time, he mentally finished. Filius might believe this hat had randomly sorted the four heads of house, he had never told a soul he had to beg the Sorting Hat not to sort him in Slytherin. Considering whose head of house was sent to which house, it actually kept hitting the nail on the head.

"I apologize for inconveniencing you. I know you all have a busy schedule," he said. "And I know that the request I gave you concerning my dear friend Nicholas did little to help."

Minerva sighed. "Albus, what happened last night is very grave. Somebody managed to steal the Sorting Hat."

"I'm telling you, the Sorting Hat wasn't stolen. It just went on a vacation."

"Somebody managed to go to your office," she dryly replied. "We do not know how and there may be a secret passage in this room that no headmaster has ever heard of. This was the Sorting Hat last night but it could very well be the Stone tomorrow."

He shook his head. "Somehow, I doubt it. In fact, I'm rather confident there is no reason to worry at all."

The burglar came with a hat, and left with another hat. He was speculating there, but it was highly probable that the Sorting Hat had been put on this mysterious person's head during this rescue mission.

And if the Sorting Hat had allowed this theft, this meant it had seen something in this person that had forced it to trust them. If that witch or wizard had meant any harm to the school or its inhabitants, he knew the alarms would have been raised in a second.

There was a new player. One Albus strongly suspected to be a friend rather than a foe to Hogwarts. He didn't know who it could be but that person had left enough clues for him to start his search. Was it a wizard or a witch? He didn't know but the encryption they had used to hide the second message had been very old. Ancient in fact and Albus had only used the correct spell to uncover it because he had felt there was a hidden message and everything else had failed.

 _And yet_ , at the same time, there was something very childish about this rescue mission. This little hat and the note felt like a wink rather than the insult Severus was seeing.

Two hats. One a millennium years old like the spell on the note, and one brand new like the curtain they put inside.

Even the charm used to encrypt the message was ancient, for he had only seen this variation in centuries old artefacts.

Albus looked inside the hat and couldn't stop a smile.

Somebody had cut the label where some First Years usually wrote their name. Still, he could still read Malkin 1991 on the fabric. The burglar was most definitely a child, a First Year if his intuition was correct.

Now if he was a child, where would he hide a priceless artefact?

* * *

"Are you sure this is a good idea, Gryffindor?"

"Yes, yes," Harry thought as he put Hat on his head. "I'm sure nobody will see any difference."

Now that Hat was where he rightfully belonged –on his head-, Harry had to make sure nobody would attempt to take him back. Problem was, there weren't many spells he knew to ensure that and even if could, Harry had no intention of transfiguring Hat to suit his purposes.

The first charm he had just casted consisted of allowing him to see past Hat and not be blinded by the fabric over his eyes. The second one was a slight misdirection Salazar Slytherin had taught Godric Gryffindor a long time ago. Now, the only thing anybody looking at him would focus on was that he had a strange and rather beautiful Hat. If they tried to look closer, the magic would misdirect them and convince them Hat just was a beautiful school hat. Which was totally true.

"And it's Harry now," Harry reminded him.

"I've called you Gryffindor for ten centuries, I will not change now," Hat stubbornly insisted and Harry sighed as he reached for the timetable on his bed.

"Now, what class do I have?" he whispered as he read his timetable.

Hat read his thoughts and hummed. "Defence Against the Dark Arts and Herbology, eh?" Feeling the growing excitement, he chuckled. "They stopped using swords to fight black vines, Gryffindor. As for Defence-" he suddenly stopped talking.

"What?" Harry asked but the Hat didn't say anything. "No, seriously what?"

Hat remained silent.

It was only when Harry began despairing in Defence that Hat started laughing.

* * *

"What the hell was _that_?" Harry exclaimed after leaving Defence Against the Dark Arts.

Like his friends, Godric Gryffindor had taught his students everything he knew. And, if there had been no concept such as 'Charms' or 'Transfiguration' in that time, the subjects he had enjoyed teaching the most were magical creatures and defence against dark magic and dangerous creatures.

As a result, Harry had been looking forward to it. He had known in his bones that would be the most exciting course for him to learn.

But Professor Quirell…

"He's… competent, I guess?" Harry slowly began telling Hat. "Like, it's obvious he knows his subject. But…"

But Professor Quirell clearly had no experience. And in Defence Against the Dark Arts, experience was _everything_. As a result, _somehow_ , this lesson had been boring.

"You think he's new?" Harry asked Hat. "Because, so far it didn't start well."

Hat hummed. "It is his first year teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts," he informed Harry.

"Well, that was obvious," Harry whispered under his breath. "Hopefully, he'll get better. Maybe in a year or two he'll even be a good teacher, what do you think, Hat?"

Hat didn't say anything and Harry sighed.

"Fine, fine," he mumbled. "Suppose I'll have to bear with him. Still, what a horrible fashion sense."

Turbans, honestly. It was such a terrible headwear the mere sight of it had been enough to give him headaches.

"Hats are clearly superior," Hat haughtily agreed.

Harry smiled and left the castle.

Suddenly, he was overwhelmed by a feeling of joy that was so strong and overwhelming it brought tears to his eyes.

"Hat? Hat, is that you?"

His hat didn't say anything for a long time and Harry sighed and began walking to the greenhouse. Finally, just as Harry was about to go inside, Hat said, "Last time I was outside, you were still alive, Gryffindor."

Hand on the doorknob, he stilled. "Really? That long? No-Nobody brought you outside? Wh-What sort of horrible people did that to you, Hat?"

"I'm the Sorting Hat," he heard. "A vital artefact for the school. They charmed me to protect me, and they know I'm slightly sentient but the headmasters never- They don't see me as a being with feelings or a soul, I'm just a hat. They use me and when they're done they put me back on the shelf."

"You're not _just_ a hat," Harry furiously thought. "You're _my_ hat. You're older than these stones, you've lived ten times longer than they ever will, you've been to war, you've faced devil snares and dragons, you deserve their respect! If somebody here has no soul, it's them!"

That being said, Harry entered the classroom fuming and spent the entire lesson trying to find the correct words to use for his letter of complaint to the Headmaster on the inhuman treatment Hat had been receiving ever since the tenth century.

"We'll go outside every day, Hat. I swear to you."

From the back of his mind, Harry felt Hat's overwhelming gratitude.

"Could we go to the lake afterward?"

"And we'll stay there as long as you need."


End file.
